


There's Nothing Like Love to Make a Man Feel Miserable

by Except_on_Tuesday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Gavin Reed, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Fever, Gavin Reed Being an Idiot, Gavin Reed Whump, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday
Summary: The DPD crew attempts to care for their sick detective sergeant.--Temporary Hiatus--Once I wrap up some pending life responsibilities, this story will be updated and finished.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

Markus was a semi-regular sight at DPD Central Station. The android leader strongly believed in maintaining a constant presence and dialogue with the law enforcement officers. Rather than naming a liaison the android came in person whenever he wanted to 'discuss' new laws or ideas for new laws.

It drove Captain Fowler up the wall.

“And on top of all that,” he wound up his rant at Hank, who sat sipping at a too green, green tea, “now I have to play host to the f—ing android leader! What’s he think I’m running here? A diplomatic café? Why can’t he just send an email about what he wants? Why’s he got to come in person and screw up my entire precinct’s routine?”

Hank nodded. “Screw up routine.” He contributed only out of his responsibility as a sounding board.

Fowler glared out through the two-way glass at the bullpen. He liked order in his building and among his officers. Order made it easy to find disorder.

“Where’s your android?” Fowler had noticed Connor’s absence the moment he’d come into the precinct, but refrained from asking after the android to avoid being accused of caring about the young android detective that found more ways than a two-year of getting into trouble.

 _Heaven help Hank when that kid actually does turn two._ Fowler thought with a spiteful squint at the complacent lieutenant who didn’t have to concern himself with running a police station and playing diplomat with android leaders. It was always hard to remember that Connor was still a baby—even according to androids, Fowler had learned from his many talks with Markus that the android community was slowly developing its own methods of calculating maturity. He hadn’t paid much attention, but he remembered it had something to do with time before deviating and time after deviating. Either way, Markus had admitted when pressed by the police captain, that, yes, Connor was considered a child by most androids.

“But his experiences,” Markus had added, “have added to his maturity. So, if you are worried about employment regulations—

“I’m not worried.” Fowler had cut off the android. “I was just wondering if I had a baby working for me or not.”

Markus’ smile was not belittling. “Perhaps he is, but only in terms of social development and years alive. You should have no concern regarding his ability to function as a member of your team here.”

Of course Fowler had rebelled against the suggestion that he’d accepted Connor as anything other than Hank’s little gadget. But he was not about to rant to a prestigious android leader. No matter how infuriating said leader was. 

That’s what Hank was for. Fowler came out of his thoughts about past conversations with Markus when Hank finally answered his question.

“Connor? He should be here. Down in evidence I think.” Hank said. “He came in early and left a note saying something about a new idea regarding a possible lead. Honestly,” Hank leaned back in the chair far enough to reach the wastebasket and dropped the still half-full cup inside. “I think he just likes to hang around down there because it’s cool and quiet. But,” he added quickly when he saw Fowler's disapproving frown, “he is working. He just normally chooses to analyze evidence in private rather than dragging a bunch of boxes up here.”

One of many things Hank had learned about his partner was that Connor despised extreme temperatures. The kid had fooled around with the heating and cooling systems at the house and the precinct until he could regulate the temperature with lab-level precision. Of course, Connor would never choose his own comfort over that of the humans he worked with, so more often than not, the temperature was set for optimal human comfort.

“Well, don’t let him f—k around all day.” Fowler snapped for appearances sake only. Hank and Connor were a good team and had earned a little leniency in their methods. Movement in the bullpen’s entryway caught his attention. He strode to the door and flung it open. “REED!”

Hank winced at the volume. “D—mn, Jeff. Lighten up a bit.”

“Don’t tell your boss to lighten up.” Fowler plopped into his chair and pulled out a folder with Reed’s name stamped on it. “Go on.” He waved his hand. “Unless you want to give Reed his weekly behavioral lecture.”

“Nope.” Hank stood up. “That’s all yours.” He strode to the door, noting how slowly Gavin was dragging his feet in obeying the captain’s order. “Hey, Jeff.” He said. “Don’t drag him down too hard today. He did good work with that weekend arson case.”

“I know that.” Fowler glared. “And so does he. The man doesn’t need to be told what he does right. His problem is in understanding what he does wrong.”

Gavin was nearly to the office, but Hank tried once more to soften the captain. The circles under Reed’s eyes had been receding in recent weeks, but they were back today and darker than ever. “Just don’t make it sound like he’s always wrong.”

“Sometimes he is.” Fowler could feel irritation at the suggestion that he didn’t know how to handle his people. He was the captain and he’d treat his men exactly how they needed to be treated to keep DPD running at peak efficiency. If Gavin insisted on being a wonky-wheel, then he was going to be hammered straight or thrown out.

Hank held the door for Gavin as he left the office.

“T’hell’s your problem?” Gavin rasped, yanking the door away from Hank and widening his stance defensively as if he thought Hank really did want to have a fight in the doorway. “I can open a f—in’ door.”

 _Ouch._ Hank internally winced at the roughness in Gavin’s unusually shallow voice. _Got a touch of a sore throat, Reed?_

“Good morning to you to.” Hank muttered side-stepping the aggressive younger man, already regretting having said anything to Fowler about going easy on him.

“Reed shut your mouth, get in here, an’ sit down.” Fowler’s voice was hitting the particular roar he used to get Reed to obey him without a half hour’s worth of obstinate contrariness.

Not wanting to have his eardrums burst this early, Hank left them to it without another word, grateful when the door closed, sealing off whatever lecture Reed was going to receive.

 _If he is sick, I hope it’s bad enough to send him home for the day._ It wasn’t cruelty that inspired the wish. Unless Gavin was thoroughly sick, he’d try to tough it out—usually keeping himself sick for far longer than if he’d just taken a few days to rest and recover. And the stubborn man had no qualms about spreading a cold or flu to his co-workers, witnesses, suspects, or an entire courtroom, depending upon the work he had for the day.

He spotted Ben, Chris and Chen clustered in the breakroom. "Hey, what's this?" Hank demanded as he joined them. If Connor was down in evidence, then Hank could get away with a small cup of coffee. 

"Gavin's sick." Chris said. "We're putting together an action plan."

Hank's eyebrows went up. "Action plan?"

"Yes. The 'Gavin Reed is sick and about to unleash hell upon us all unless we keep him settled and comfortable without his knowing that we are doing so because he'll think that we think that he's weak and unable to do his job' action plan." Ben clarified as he held up a tablet with a file that bore the long title.

"This sounds like it could go spectacularly wrong." Hank said, reluctant to meddle with the volatile man. But then he recalled the weariness in Gavin's step and the dark circles and the painful rasp. The man was probably far worse off than he looked. Had probably already been sick for days. 

If Gavin wouldn't take care of himself, then it was their job to look out for him. "I'm in." He said. 


	2. Chapter 2

Earlier that morning.

The shrill tones of a 5am phone alarm blared from a distant location, gradually growing loud enough to penetrate the closed bathroom door and wake Gavin from where he was nestled into a pile of old blankets and ratty, scratchy towels that were perhaps more multi-purpose than was appropriate for a homicide detective who lived with cats.

“Mmno.” Puffy-eyed and fluffy haired and aching all over, Gavin wiped his hands over his face and stretched in the small bathroom. His socked feet kicked against the sink’s exposed plumbing. He didn’t strike it hard enough to hurt himself, but the movement woke painful cramps in his legs.

Gavin curled like a wounded spider as the pain increased. “S-sh—t.” He frantically tried to rub the tightness out of his sore muscles. Before he could recover, a tell-tale thickness rose in his throat. He scrambled for the toilet. Anger at his situation and his body’s inability to handle a tiny germ made him try to hurl his treacherous and obviously defective insides up in one go. But he only managed a violent dry heave of thick bile traced with pink from a throat raw from a night of vomiting. Fists clenched and swearing hoarsely, Gavin spat into the bowl and slapped the lever to erase the evidence of his weakness.

The man started to lean back to catch his breath when his guts clenched again. “D—mmit...” He waited and spat but nothing would come up despite the cramping. Thoroughly irritated, Gavin fumbled for the bottle of water he’d gotten at some point during the night. Using his whole hand to remove the cap, which he flicked across the small room with as much strength as he could muster, he swallowed half the bottle of lukewarm water. _That'll teach ya t'play games w'me._

Minutes later, after more miserable and more productive heaving, Gavin fell back from the toilet and snuggled down into the nest of blankets, drawing his aching knees to his chest and resting his cheek on his fists. The loops on the cheap towel inches from his left eye were interesting to his sick numbed brain and he stared thoughtlessly at them for several quiet moments. It was easy to relax like this; dressed in soft sweats, too numbed with pain and misery to think about anything beyond the four walls around him.

He sniffled and coughed, not bothering to muffle it in the privacy of his empty apartment.

“Mew.”

Well, empty except for his cats. He coughed again. They were a responsibility he didn't mind thinking about all the time. “’ll feed ya inna minnit.”

He’d decamped to the bathroom at 1am and spent the hours between then and now throwing up and catching a few fretful moments of exhausted sleep. His cats had thought it strange, but accepted the new sleeping arrangements. They’d quickly abandoned him after the first round of loud throwing up.

 _Can’t blame em_. He thought without bitterness; cats were too good and beautiful to be exposed to nasty human illness. _And I wouldn’t wanna be around me either._ Feeling strangely low at the idea, he coughed again and wiped his fever sore eyes on the blankets he’d dragged into the bathroom after the first two rapid trips across the apartment.

The ‘get up’ alarm started up again; the increasing volume pounded against his sensitive and ringing eardrums. “’s too early.” He pressed a wrist against his forehead and tried to guess at a temperature.

“Jus’ hot.”

He had a thermometer in the medicine cabinet above the sink. He rolled over, tangling himself in the blankets and towels, banging his arm against the shower door, and glared up at the cabinet.

It was so far away. And so high.

_Who the hell decided it was a good idea to put medicine halfway to the ceiling? Should be down ‘ere...with the sick people...medicine’s never where’s ‘posed t’be....friggin’ Balto..._

_Meh...who needs it anyway?_ He stuffed his face into the blankets and sneezed, feeling the sickness jostling around his head and chest with the violent movement. “Gaaaah. Guess I do...”

Recovering somewhat after a few moments of stillness, he rubbed his eyes and idly wondered if he could pry loose the towel rack with his feet and then use it to open the medicine cabinet and knock down the first aid kit... _I’d have to catch it so it don’t....hit......falls....._

He woke again to the sound of his 6am alarm. He had to be at work by 7.

“Nooooo.” He moaned for as long as he could until a harsh cough tore from his sore throat making his eyes water. 

But he had to get to work. With a grimace, he dragged himself up. His ears rung and his vision darkened at the edges while colors and patterns around him became bright and vivid.

_...oh....craaaaap...._

Roaring filled his ears and his vision blacked out completely—as if his body hit the power switch—and he fell to one knee, one hand crashed against the glass shower door.

It was sturdy and would have supported some of his weight. But not all of it.

The old, corroded hinges snapped free, sending the sick detective crashing headlong into the shower stall.

Gavin swore as his hands dragged across fractured glass as he regained enough awareness to push himself up on both hands and somehow extract himself from the mess. Staggering out of the stall, he swatted the toilet lid down and sat heavily on it, head in bleeding hands.

_It all has to stop s-spinnin’ at some point._

But it didn’t. He felt worse with each passing second. He side-eyed the empty, cold medicine boxes in the trash at his side. “F—in’ waste.” He hadn’t been able to hold anything down. Dose after dose had simply gone to the sewer to grow giant crocodiles.

“P-phkin’ crocs...” He rubbed his sore throat and spat into the trash. “D—mn, f—in’ germs...frickin’ nasty criminals...idiots...just tryin’ do m’job....” He stared at his cut up hands. Shards of glass caught in the bathroom light that he hadn’t bothered to turn off since his first visit at 11am.

_Can’t even stand up...._

“Should call in sick....” But the mere sound of the words disgusted him more than all the vomit he’d seen in the past few hours. _You give up now, you’ll just be weaker the next go around. You don’t get stronger by giving up. You wanna be ‘Give up Gavin’? Huh? Pathetic, small, an’ weak—_

“Gah...shut up.” He tapped his fingers against his head trying to silence his conscience before it really got going. He winced when his headache protested the abuse.

Finished with his pity party, Gavin set about getting himself ready for work in the half hour left before he had to walk out the door. He flopped against the sink, head down and reached up to retrieve his first aid kit for more drugs and medication.

Feeling slightly settled for the moment, Gavin rushed to clean up his hands, shower—careful to avoid the broken glass around his feet—dress, feed the cats and then try to eat something himself. Ten minutes later in the middle of forcing some plain insta-oatmeal down his throat, his stomach finally registered the substances and protested.

This time he remembered to bring his phone. As soon as breakfast was gone, along with the medication, he slumped against the bathroom sink and tried to write out a ‘sick day’ message with shaking fingers. "Jus' write it and sent it." He told himself. "Don't overthink it."

[Can’t come in to work]

_Why not? You have legs. Your car is working fine. You’re not DEAD._

He erased the message and tried another version:

[won’t come in to work]

_You got something better to do than your job? Hope you don’t mind when someone who WILL come to work takes it away. You know Fowler is just waiting for a reason._

That message got backspaced too.

[I’m sick]

_Aw, poor Gavin. What you think this is grade school? Maybe some chicken an’ stars soup? Someone to tuck you in? Some detective sergeant you are. You’re supposed to be the strong one._

He stared at the message through fever-watery eyes. The recipient was empty anyway. Any of the names he tried simply seemed to mock him. Fowler? Was he really going to tell his boss he was too sick to come in? Laughable. Anderson? Hell no. _And I ain't gonna tell no patrol cop that 'm sick._ He straightened stiff shoulders. "Not sick anyway. 'm fine."

The phone screamed the fifteen minute warning at him.

“Phck.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to work through a slight cold. And the whole puking guts thing..... _I’ll deal with it. No big deal._


	3. Chapter 3

\--

Current time.

“Sit down. Shut up.” Captain Fowler's curt order was a preemptive strike against Reed’s usual nonsense. Arguing with Hank was one thing, but there was nothing pleasant or friendly or useful about a verbal battle with Gavin Reed. “And tell me what happened last Friday.”

The entire messy story was documented in the latest complaint in the folder before him, but he wanted to get Reed’s side. He was fair like that.

Slouched in the chair, more from exhaustion than obedience, Gavin stared emptily at the front of the captain’s desk. It was covered in dents and dings. He traced the scuffs along its lower edge with the tip of his shoe, seeking distraction from the tightness in his throat and the discomfort in his stomach. The office’s air conditioning system kicked on and he shivered, sinking lower in the chair to escape the cold air ruffling through his hair.

The captain’s expression creased into a frown at the silent and fidgeting detective. “Reed.”

“What?” Gavin cleared his throat roughly. “I’m sittin’.” He’d not heard the captain’s third order. His ears were ringing so loudly that it was hard to pay attention.

“What happened?” Fowler repeated in a voice just this side of annoyed when Gavin's sneeze interrupted him. "On Friday?"

“Friday?” Gavin sniffled, wiping his hands on his pant legs. Another chill rippled over his skin. "What 'bout it?" He pulled his jacket tighter around himself.

Fowler narrowed his eyes as he took in the detective-sergeant’s wan face, the dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. “What's wrong with you? You sick?”

“I’m fine, Dr. Fowler.” Gavin sneered.

“You look like sh—t.”

Gavin crumpled and a wounded expression flashed across his face, but then it was gone—replaced by a scowl. He swept a hand over his head, pushing stray bits of hair back into place and then dropped his hand to his lap. “...s’long as I get the job done...what I look like doesn’t matter.” He sneezed again into his jacket; the wisps of hair bounced back to their former unruliness over his temples.

“I don’t need you getting the entire precinct sick.” Fowler warned with a pointed finger. “Take a day. Go home and sleep it off.”

Conflicting feelings pulled at Gavin. On one hand, he desperately wanted to go back to the apartment, turn off all the lights, cuddle up with his cats and sleep. But on the other hand... _.I’m not THAT sick. I can handle this._

Fowler studied the man before him. Reed was actually considering the offer _._ “Go home.” Fowler repeated, meaning it to be encouraging. “We don’t need you today.” He added.

Gavin banished the tempting vision of a quiet day spent on the couch with his cats. He cleared his throat again and shifted in the chair, sitting up straighter despite the cramp in his stomach. “I’m fine.” He hunched his shoulders and swallowed tightly against the rising nausea.

“Did you even hear what I asked you two minutes ago?” Fowler was growing impatient with the stubborn man.

Gavin heard the captain’s voice, but didn’t understand the words. He guessed and answered with as much emphasis as he could manage. “I am.” The muttered defense was his own conviction.

Fowler shook his head.

“I can work.” Gavin insisted.

“No.” Fowler said. It would be a disservice to the city and humanity to let Reed loose upon the public in his current condition. “You’re a liability like this.”

“I’m not.” Gavin shook his head and tried to stand. His stomach lurched and the room spun. Sheer willpower kept the stomach bile where it belonged.

“You’re a mess.” Fowler stood and loomed over the hunched detective who'd given up on standing for the moment. “I’m not having you endangering yourself and others just because you want to prove a point.”

“But the worse’s over.” Gavin insisted. “I’ll be perfectly fine by noon.”

“No. Reed.” _Go home and rest._

An old mixture of hot hatred and indignation stirred in Gavin’s chest. _For three years, f—in’ Anderson’s allowed to come in drunk or hungover as hell. But I get punished for having one friggin’ cold._

Sensitive from the rising fever and a lack of sleep, Gavin’s eyes burned with the unfairness of it all. In the end it all came down to the same old thing: if a superior officer liked you personally, you could do whatever you wanted. If they didn’t...you did whatever they wanted. Gavin had tried everything to get into the captain’s favor, but...it was never enough....he was never good enough for anyone.....

Fowler leaned back and crossed his arms. The younger man looked as if he’d been told to surrender his badge and gun.

Gavin fought the words out through his raw throat, “I’ve got over thirty open cases. Who's gonna pick those up?” He stared hard at the captain. "Ben? He's already overloaded." He pushed his argument, faking as much sympathy as he could. “You really want Anderson taking on the two child murder cases I have to follow-up on today? You really want to put Anderson through that?” _C’mon. Anderson’s your friend._

Fowler was not fooled by Reed’s supposed concern for either Ben or the lieutenant. But the thought of making Anderson work a child murder case made Fowler rethink how much he cared about Reed’s health. Between Anderson’s sanity and Reed making an idiot of himself from trying to work when he could barely see straight, the decision was easy.

“Fine.” The captain surrendered. Reed’s sour expression brightened for the first time in days. “But,” the captain added with a frown, “No fieldwork.”

“But I—

“Sit at your desk or sit at home. Your choice.” Fowler pinned Reed with a finger. “Got that? And I want you to sit out on the meeting with the android leader today.”

Gavin hated attending meetings with the Jericho leaders anyway. Did everything he could to avoid the meetings. But being told NOT to attend? Because the captain thought he couldn’t handle it? His already wounded pride flared along with a headache. “You’re always sayin’ you want input from the ranking officers. What? Now you don't?”

Fowler looked exasperated. “You’re in no condition to—

“My 'condition' is FINE!” Gavin was standing up now, swaying slightly on his feet. “Stop tryin' to sideline me!”

“Do not take that tone with me, Detective Reed. I can still order you off duty. Now sit down.”

Gavin chose instead to cross his arms and glare.

“Reed.” Fowler warned. “Do not give me attitude today. You’re already in hot water—

“What fer?”

“You got a complaint filed against you regarding last week.” Returning to the original purpose for calling Reed into the officer, Fowler tapped the folder.

 _Sh—t._ Gavin forced himself to keep a neutral expression as he sat back down. Last week had been one long disaster of mishaps and bad calls and over-sensitive civilians who thought their feelings were more important than allowing a qualified detective catch a murder. “A complaint?” _Only one?_ He’d been expecting to get slapped with at least five.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised. I’m sure you remember the animal hoarder you busted last Friday.”

“Oh.” Gavin coughed and waved a bored hand. “That.”

Fowler resisted a groan at the detective’s semi-relived tone. “Is there something else?”

A series of shallow, dry coughs caught Gavin by surprise and he buried his face inside his jacket, concealing his entire head like an ostrich.

The captain crossed his arms and waited, tapping one foot.

Face still buried in his jacket, Gavin shook his head. “No.” It was barely audible.

“Right.” Fowler leaned back. “So. How’d a suspect fall three times off a raised deck?”

Gavin lifted his head from the sweet darkness of his jacket. “Gravity.” 

\--


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning in end notes

“Quiet, rested, hydrated, and fed.” Hank grunted as he finished adjusting the mechanics of the breakroom’s vending machine. “That’s the exact opposite of what Reed is.” He chuckled at the thought of a well-fed, well-rested Gavin Reed. 

_Ridiculous_.

The closest he’d ever come to seeing that was years ago when the kid accidently got drunk on hard cider during a holiday fundraiser at the mayor’s house. Most of what he ate was ham on sugar cookies; and sleeping meant passed out a linen closet—Ben had been frantic and about to tear the entire neighborhood apart looking for his young partner. 

Hank shook himself out of the old memory. “That should do it.” He stood up with a hand pressed against his lower back. “Ah...too old for this sh—t.”

Chris stepped back, an old chipped screwdriver in hand, as Hank slammed the vending machine shut and relocked it. If their plan to get non-junk food into the detective-sergeant was going to work, they had to keep him away from his usual sources. 

“How did you know how to do that?” Chris pointed at the vending machine. 

“I know things” was Hank’s only explanation as he washed the greasy dust from his hands in the breakroom sink.

“But why?”

Before Hank could answer with another cryptic comment, footsteps drew his attention. 

“Alrighty.” Ben said, entering the room. He tossed a brief glance over his shoulder to check that Reed was still in the office getting lectured by an increasingly exasperated captain. 

“Moneypenny said she could reroute his calls, but there’s one she couldn’t or wouldn’t.” Ben read the note scrawled on his phone’s notepad. “A forensic scientist in Germany scheduled at noon. Uh...then a prison visit to question a prior arrest. That’s at 3. Everything else we can rearrange, reschedule or delegate.” 

“He should be able to handle one phone call, but I’m not babysitting Reed on another prison visit.” Hank stated and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’ve done that too many times.” He rubbed his eyes as he remembered the absolute riot that Reed’s presence caused at the prison—and not just with the prisoners, but staff and guards. _If he’d treat people with a little f—king respect....or maybe the problem was simpler._

“It’s like he was born to be hated.”

“Don’t say that.” Ben’s tone cut through Hank’s nonchalance as he stepped up to the other man. “Don’t ever say that again.” There was a dark, grim look in the older cop’s eyes. 

Hank swore. “Right. I got it.”

“I’ll go with him.” Chris volunteered from where he’d shrunk against the back wall when the two veteran officers clashed. He’d planned on driving Reed to the jail anyway, but when Ben snarled—it was best to get out of the way. 

“Ya’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

The rough voice startled all three men and they turned to see Gavin prowl into the breakroom, attention on Chris, but his eyes flicked toward Ben and Hank and he deliberately angled himself to keep them in his periphery. For a moment, they thought he’d overheard the argument but his next words indicated otherwise. 

“Go to the prison. Get E’lorrain’s statement.” Gavin slapped a tablet against Chris’ chest with enough force to stagger the cop. Feet dragging, Gavin went to the breakroom counter without a backward glance. “He’ll pro’lly try to play head games an’ sh—t...” 

Chris stared at the tablet and the bullet-point list of what the sergeant wanted from the convict. “You want me.” He pointed at himself. “To get E’lorrain’s statement...” 

Gavin slammed his hands on the counter, making the walls ring in the confined space. “I’m tellin’ ya to.”

“But boss...” Chris looked at Gavin’s back. “What happened last time—

Gavin huffed impatiently, coughed, and then swung around to glare at Chris. “That doesn’t matter!” He leaned back and splayed one hand on the counter for balance when he listed a few inches to the side.

“I’m not a detective, sir.” Chris’ voice came through gritted teeth on the last word. “And E’Lorrain barely respects me as a person—

“Re-respect?” Gavin blinked and shook his head as if to clear it so he could hear better. “Uh, hello?” Gavin took a few quicks steps forward and shoved Chris with both hands. “The f—k do I care ‘bout respect? Suck it up an’ do as I say!”

“Hey, back off.” Hank stepped forward, but Gavin’s out flung arm nearly took his nose off. 

“Nobody asked you.” Gavin snapped. He pushed Chris again, but the officer didn’t give the satisfaction of staggering again. If anything, Gavin was thrown off balance though he hid it by grabbing Chris’ arm. “This ain’t a phckin’ game with ‘play nice’ rules! Ya let E’Lorrain push ya around an’ ya mighta well hand over that badge an’ move to a friendlier city!”

“You done?” Chris said. 

“You gonna do as I say?” Gavin thrummed with aggression; he’d released Chris’ arm, but hadn’t stepped away. 

“No.”

“The hell!” Gavin’s hands closed into fists. “Yer f—kin’ useless Miller!”

“I shouldn’t have to do your job for you.” Chris snapped. 

Gavin recoiled one full step, his left leg stiffened and his right bent, caught between retreat and attack. 

Before Gavin’s sick-slowed brain could formulate a reaction, Ben got between the two men. “Easy, boys.” He said. “Gavin, I know you want that statement—

“I’ll go.” Tina spoke up from the doorway. She’d heard the commotion and come to see what it was about. “I’d like a chance to make that f—ker sing.”

Hank growled and stepped in, chest out and jaw squared. “Nobody’s making nobody do anything. Reed,” He strong armed Gavin backward. “Settle.” He turned back to Chris, careful not to put his back to the fuming detective-sergeant. “Chris, Tina neither of you are going to question that psycho. I’ll do it myself—

“But—

“Shut up, Reed.” Hank had to take a firm stance now while he had the upper hand. Reed might be ill and feverish, but Hank was not about to let that be an excuse for him to bully and abuse his colleagues. 

“But—

Hank rolled his eyes skyward. _The man cannot shut up._ “Beat cops aren’t going to tackle this case.”

Gavin opened and slammed a cupboard. “But freakin’ Capt’n chained me to the desk! I need that statement today!”

“We will get it.” Hank reiterated. “Get that through your d—mn brain! Why’re you stuck on the idea it has to be Chris, huh? Are you that st...” he rapidly corrected himself, “stubborn?”

“Fowler’s gonna suspend me if I do any fieldwork!” Gavin’s voice cracked and he wrapped his arms around himself as a bout of coughing doubled him over, his own body finally stepping in to let him know he was definitely overdoing things. All the effort to soothe his throat was undone from his shouting. “P-phckin’...”

‘Go’ Ben mouthed at Chris and Tina. To Gavin he said, “I know you have a lot of...” he fumbled for a word, “use for Chris, but you can’t force him into detective shoes.” Ben’s voice softened. “You know he doesn’t want that for himself or his family.”

“But...the statement...” Gavin’s harsh voice sounded like it was running over sandpaper; all the shouting had torn up the tender tissues of his throat. 

_D—mn it._ Ben thought. _How’d this get out of control so quickly?_ He cursed himself for not stopping the argument sooner. “The lieutenant can get the statement.”

“No.” Gavin protested, his fingers twisting in his hair. “Why don’t you understand?”

“I’m trying, Gavin.” Ben said. “But you’ve fixated on this idea that Chris has to be the one to get the statement. Think about it. Isn’t there anyone else you can send?”

Gavin shook his head, his face hidden by his hands now. 

“Is there a reason why Fowler said you couldn’t do fieldwork?” Ben prodded. 

Gavin mumbled an answer that didn’t communicate anything at all.

“What if I talk to him? Hmm?”

“’bout what?”

“That you’re perfectly capable of making a prison visit.”

Gavin perked up and dropped his hands from his face. “Yeah. Do that. He likes you.”

Ben nodded. “Right. Okay.” Shuffling the entire ordeal under the metaphorical rug, Ben moved away to pretend to search through the breakroom fridge for something. “Was there anything else you came in here for?” 

“No...” Gavin’s eyes scrunched and he knuckled at a headache. “Move.” He snapped at Hank who’d been quiet and unobtrusive watching Ben calm Reed into a more rational state of mind. 

Hank shuffled aside to avoid being shouldered. He hadn’t thought it would be easy to handle a sick Gavin, but he hadn’t expected him to blow up at Chris like that. 

Gavin moved along the counter, fingers tapping across its surface until he came to the cupboard he wanted. He coughed into his elbow while reaching up for the coffee mix he wanted, but the motion and stretch aggravated his sore body. 

He tried to swallow the cough, but that made things worse and he ended with his head down gasping for air between raking coughs. The opened cupboard swung unhelpfully above his head. 

“Gavin?” Ben ventured, waving at Hank to take the opportunity to vacate. “You okay?”

“Phc—ck’ff.” 

Ben winced at the raw hollowness that sounded in the man’s chest. Showing any concern would only make Gavin angrier and more defensive, but he had to try a little. “If that cough gets worse—

“Notta cough...” Gavin’s voice disappeared into a thin, hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. “Just.” He eked out words like he was counting their cost by the letter. “Air.” 

Ben nodded, giving Reed some of the control he wanted. “Alright. But—

“Stop.” Gavin pulled in a breath and turned around to face the older man. “Just stop.” Some of the anger had left, but the normally clear eyes were dull and tired. Red blotches stained the sclera of the left eye. 

Ben gave a tired smile and moved away to unstack and restack the O’Mansley Donut boxes, pretending to be looking for the one he wanted. 

“F—k is wrong with the thing?” Gavin muttered as he jabbed a few buttons on the coffee machine until they clicked and nearly disappeared behind the display face. 

“It’s in a self-cleaning mode.” Ben said as casually as possible. “We found a maggot in it this morning.”

Gavin muttered as he opened and closed the coffee machine’s lid, pulled and pushed its levers, and wriggled the casing. “Why...” He tapped the orange power light and checked under the lid again. 

“We can’t use it or we’ll get chemicals instead of coffee.” Ben tried again.

Gavin stared at the machine and thrust his mug under the dispenser. He stepped back warily, hands spread slightly. 

It didn’t respond.

Gavin slapped it with the flat of his hand and then draped himself over the coffeemaker. “Phckin’ machines....”

“Want some tea instead?” Ben offered. 

“Don’t want anythin’.” Still using the coffeemaker as his prop, Gavin pushed its clock reset button until the light flashed. He held down the button and watched the numbers race and repeat. He yawned drowsily into his arms. 

_Well,_ Ben thought, _while he’s here, he’s not chasing around wearing himself out._ The older cop left the breakroom as quietly as he could. He needed to talk to Fowler about backing down from a decision that was causing more harm than good.

\--

Gavin startled awake when his arm slid off the top of the coffeemaker, nearly toppling the whole thing onto its side. “Phckin’....fine...” 

He carefully turned around and sighed in relief when he found that he finally had the breakroom to himself. He poked at his stomach. It didn’t seem upset. And he didn’t feel hungry. But he knew he had to eat. Those floaty dark spots in his vision couldn’t be normal. _I’m gonna put food in ya, an’ it’s gonna stay there._

Rubbing his newly sore throat, he slouched over to the vending machine and sliced his card through the reader. Jabbed in the code for his selection and waited. He’d read the ‘enjoy’ message twice and the ‘slide card to begin purchase’ five times before he realized that nothing had happened. 

Gavin leaned against the machine. “Not today.” He murmured and tried again. With the same lack of results. He slammed his palm against the reinforced plastic. 

_Phckin’ piece of sh—t garbage...._

A digital sing-song sang at him and interrupted the mental rant. Gavin turned and saw that some poor sap had left their food unprotected in the microwave. 

He shuffled over and tiptoed to peek through the window and then yanked open the door. Whatever it was didn’t smell like much. 

Gavin tucked his hand into his sleeve and pulled the large ceramic mug out of the cooker and using a plastic knife scavenged from the sink he pried open the lid. 

It looked like broth. Gavin stirred the liquid with the plastic knife. Flicking out a piece of pasty looking chicken, he brought the cup to his lips and licked the rim where the liquid had bubbled over during heating. It was a little salty but his stomach didn’t lurch at it. 

“Phck.” Gavin tossed the knife into the sink where he’d found it and dragged himself to his desk with his stolen sustenance. 

\--

“Good idea with the broth.” Hank muttered to Chen. “How’d you know he’d go for it?” 

Chen glanced over to the detective slumped over his desk, his arms curled possessively around the half empty mug. He hadn’t moved for a while, and they thought he was asleep, but Chris had texted that Gavin was awake reading something on his phone. 

Despite his fight with the detective, Chris was still willing to help out the cause to nurse Gavin back to health without his knowing about it.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s stolen something out of the microwave.” Tina answered and walked away, but she turned and with her mouth a little twisted said, “I have to get out on patrol, you want me to pick anything up from a pharmacy?” She kept her voice low and kept an eye on Reed. He really did look like he was sleeping. 

She saw his foot slide out from under the chair, toe first; then glide back under his chair, heel first. The idle motion repeated. _So he is awake._

“He seemed kind of out of it in the breakroom. Shouting at Miller.” She added, making sure to keep her voice low. 

Hank whispered. “....check with Ben. He’s usually pretty good about what Reed should or shouldn’t have.” Gavin might not be as recovered as he’d led them to believe. _Where the hell is Connor? He could get a scan on Reed._

Chen nodded and strode away to locate Ben who’d gone into one of the back offices to take a statement from a hysterical teenager who was certain he’d been abducted by aliens and only barely escaped with his life. 

\--

Gavin was on his phone, but he was also sneaking glances at Miller. 

_‘I shouldn’t have to do your job for you.’_

_I didn’t want ‘im t’do m’job._ Gavin pressed a watery eye against his sleeve and tried to focus on his phone with only one eye. 

_Then what did you want?_

Gavin bit his lip.

_You wanted help._

_No. That’s not it._

_You wanted help._

_Shut up!_

Startling everyone in the bullpen, Gavin slid back in his chair and launched himself across the bullpen toward the evidence lockers. He shoved the chair against the wall and vanished into the hallway. The officers in the bullpen heard the evidence locker door make its ungodly squeal and then slam shut with entirely too much force.

Hank came over to Chris’ desk as soon as Gavin was gone. “Hey, Chris.”

The patrol cop paused in his work. “Hey, lieutenant.” He quirked a sad smile. “I’m okay. Used to the boss flipping out on me.”

“You shouldn’t be used to that sort of treatment.” Hank said, sitting down on the edge of Gavin’s desk—seeing as how the man had used his chair as a miniature transport system to the evidence room. “I’ll talk to Fowler about it...”

“Look, lieutenant.” Chris said turning in his chair to face Hank. “I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But I think I might know Reed a little better than you, no offense. And I can tell when he’s having a...fit. And believe me, that back there?” He chuckled and shook his head. “That was nothing,” He sliced his palm through the air in a disparaging motion. “You should have heard him after he found out I was held at gunpoint by a bunch of androids. This isn’t the first time we’ve clashed. It won’t be the last. And I can handle it.”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. But that’s ‘cause you’re young and full of energy, but Reed’s good at tearing people down. And I don’t want to see that happen to you. If you ever need anything, let me know.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

\--

Gavin saw Connor standing in front of an evidence wall. “The hell you doin’ down ‘ere?” He muttered at the android. 

Connor stared at the ruffled human. “Working.” He spat the word like a printer spits paper at the end of a print session. 

“Ph—hish.” Gavin sneezed into his jacket. He rubbed his hand over his face and then signed into the computer, logging Connor out of the system.

“Hey!” The android leapt back as the wall before him swiveled and the giant, unseen machinery pulled the evidence wall file away into the darkness. “I was working on that!”

Gavin ignored him and continued typing in the sequence of file numbers he wanted queued. 

“Gavin!” Connor stamped his foot only to be further ignored. He adjusted his tie and marched over to the human, grabbing him by the shoulder, intending to push him away from the console. “You can wait your turn!”

Gavin clung to the console, spreading himself out on it like melted gum on a hot sidewalk and growled at Connor. 

Suspicious of the muted reaction from the typically vocal man, Connor’s hand moved from Gavin’s shoulder and spread against his back. Gavin’s vitals were all over the place and the detective was shivering in the cold room despite his jacket. Just the effort to resist the android had drained him. 

Connor’s defensiveness faded a degree as the human’s vitals registered. “You have a fever.”

“Do not.” Gavin coughed and pressed his forehead against the console. 

Connor put a hand under Gavin’s hood and gave the human’s lower neck a quick, rough rub over the worn jacket. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

He stepped away when Gavin swatted at him. “Stoppit.”

“But I really was working.” Connor insisted, trying to wriggle his fingers between Gavin’s chest and the computer screen so he could interface with the evidence logging system. “You can stay there, just let me...”

“’m working.” Gavin growled again and flattened himself further. “’m sergeant.”

“You’re being rude.”

“Yer bein’ a baby.”

“I am not!”

“Ya’ve done nothin’ but organize an’,” Gavin groaned and coughed into his arms, “an’ reorganize files.”

“I...but you....I thought....are you spying on me?” The android hadn’t thought his absence had been that noticeable. 

“’m sergeant.” Still facedown, Gavin thrust his phone into Connor’s face. 

The android frowned when he saw a ‘log-in’ record of the evidence files. “You monitor the evidence room?”

“Duh.”

“B-but why?”

Gavin pulled his phone back into his pocket. “’cause.” He whispered to the console. 

“Because why?”

“’cause because.” Gavin snarled and propped himself up on his elbows. “Now fess. Why’re ya hidin’ down...” he choked on a cough. ”...‘ere?”

Connor backed away and folded his arms behind his back. “I’m not hiding.”

A mirthless laugh punctuated by coughs was the derogatory answer. 

Connor frowned. “I don’t want to see Markus.”

More flat laughter. “...national hero?”

“Not mine. I don’t agree with his policies and I don’t like—

Gavin pressed his hands against his ears. “Shu’p.”

Connor muttered. “Can we not talk about me?”

Still yet to raise his head, Gavin pointed at the wall file that had opened up while they were talking. “Left shoe....sharpie pic? Smiley sun?”

Connor examined the article thoroughly. It was a child’s shoe, covered in blood. “Negative.”

“’kay.”

The console beeped as Gavin brought up the next wall file. “Ballet slipper. Sun?”

“There is a slipper. But no sun on the left or right shoe.”

“Good.” Gavin’s voice lightened for the first time in weeks. The third, fourth, and fifth walls came up and all the children’s shoes Gavin indicated were free of any markings. 

“How many of these do you plan to check?” Connor asked as he replaced the last shoe on its shelf.

“All o’em.” Gavin brought up another wall. “Red sneaker.”

Connor frowned and held it up. “This?” 

Gavin looked up, eyes feverish. A black line drawing of a sun grinned at him. 

“Phck.”

“What does this mean?” 

“Poss’ble serial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. It's been so long since I last worked on this fic so I apologize if there's any weird changes between the early chapters and this one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Additional warning:  
> Gavin and Connor look at evidence. Implied/Referenced harm to children. Nothing too graphic.


End file.
